Last Night at the Blue Angel Read Online Free

buildings expert. Tunnel of Love? That’d be a good place .
    He points at the Tunnel of Love and I memorize where it is—across from the Chutes, next to the Comet—and I feel better.
    I ride all the roller coasters—the Bobs twice, the Jetstream, the Silver Flash—and the Carousel. The Carousel is not one of my favorites but it’s the only ride Jim will go on with me. I have enough excitement , is his reason. I beg him to take me on the Tilt-a-Whirl.
    We have to get going , he says.
    But I didn’t get to ride it! I say. Not even once! My hands are in the air. They are covered in a cotton-candy-saliva crust.
    Next time , he says, and we are walking toward the parking lot.
    W e scope out buildings on the way home and park the car on the street in front of the Chicago Stock Exchange.
    Jim says, They’ll take down every beautiful building in all of downtown if they have their way .
    I don’t know who “they” is.
    Welcome to progress . Jim says this a lot.
    I look at the arch above the entrance, try to count the floors.
    Why do you love buildings?
    He combs his mustache with his fingers while he thinks. This town . . . it’s all hustlers and thieves from top to bottom. It always has been. But this . . . He points to the building. I don’t know , kid. Sometimes we do something right. Make something worth taking care of .
    Can we go inside?
    We’ll come shoot her soon. You’ll love it. Very ornate. I been in there so many times but there’s always something new , something you missed before. A very small detail. You’ll see . He leans back and looks at me. That’s how you know real beauty. Real beauty never changes. But it’s always new to you. See what I mean? I should write that down .
    I nod.
    Do you have homework? he says.
    I shrug. I hate Sundays .
    They’re not so bad , says Jim.
    J im spends the afternoon with us. He and Mother smoke and laugh in the kitchen and now and then he takes a picture of one of us. They play gin rummy. Mother gets up to go to the bathroom. Jim looks at my tablet.
    Homework? he says.
    I shake my head.
    What is it?
    I’m making a list of all the rides I rode at Riverview and then I circle that list and write very difficult next to them. I also write cotton candy . I think about it. It can’t be that hard, the way it disappears just by touching you—your tongue, your hands.
    How hard would it be to make cotton candy? I ask.
    Not hard . If you have that machine .
    How hard would it be to make that machine?
    Can’t be that complicated , he says. Why?
    I put a question mark next to cotton candy .
    It’s hard to explain .
    Try , he says.
    It’s a list of things I might have to reinvent someday , I tell him.
    Jim taps the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray and squints at me. Why would you have to do that?
    I don’t answer.
    Do you think something bad is going to happen?
    I add machine to cotton candy and put a little star next to it.
    So . . . what sort of things would you have to reinvent?
    Well , not easy things like . . . I look around. Chair. The harder stuff. The stuff where I don’t know how they work .
    Jim looks at me. Let me see that list .
    I hand him my notebook. He studies it.
    This is a long list , he says. When did you start it?
    After they shot the president. When we came home that day and Mother was crying in front of the television .
    I know , I know , says Jim. Who do you think “they” is?
    The people who have guns. And bombs , I tell him. She never cries .
    She probably does .
    I would know if she did .
    He hands the notebook back.
    You forgot camera, he says.
    I write down camera . I study the word and feel the fear swell inside me. I have no idea how a camera works .
    It’s okay , says Jim. I do .
    Mother comes back. What did I miss?
    Jim says, I need to go to the darkroom. Want to come?
    The darkroom smells funny , I say. You should stay